


What Do You Get the Rabbit Who Has Everything?

by appending_fic



Series: The Age of Mysteries (Ciphers) [4]
Category: Gravity Falls, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Lilo & Stitch (2002), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Adventure, Alien Technology, Feelings, Lore - Freeform, M/M, Mystery, Pre-Slash, making new friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie's got an idea for an Easter present for Bunny, and drags Dipper into the planning. At the same time, Jack and Bunny are circling each other, feeling out what exactly they are to each other, all against the backdrop of Easter preparations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m ready to make a deal.”

The air flickered and lines of eldritch fire danced along the diagram Gideon had drawn on the wall of his cell. The central triangle peeled away, fading into bright yellow even as the color drained from the rest of the world. Bill Cipher’s single eye slid open as he took in the sight of his summoner.

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t think so’? I summoned you, Cipher!”

Bill Cipher laughed. “Oh, man, have you misunderstood the nature of our relationship! You’re not the one in charge here, Starry-Eye. I don’t float around granting wishes to every yahoo who knows my name, like some sort of interdimensional concierge. Although I _do_ make a mean cup of coffee.” A cup appeared in front of Gideon; he reached out to grab it before it fell.

“Hey, lardass!” the coffee jeered, “maybe if you spent as much energy exercising something other than your food-grabbing arms, you wouldn’t be such a butterball.”

Gideon lifted his head slowly, meeting Bill’s cyclopean gaze. When he was certain he held the triangle’s full attention, he hurled the cup to the side, where it shattered against the stone with a pained shriek. “Did you think that was funny?”

“Of course I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it! But seriously, Starry-Eye. You need to think of me less as a contractor and more as an unpredictable wildcard. I don’t make deals unless I think I’m going to get something out of it. Or it’d be funny. And you’ve sort of run out your appeal with this whole ‘evil prepubescent Southerner’ shtick.”

“You can’t leave me in here, Bill.”

“Hahahahahaha! I can do anything I _want_! But hey, because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll throw you a bone. Catch!” Gideon was just canny enough to grab at the bloody pelvis Bill threw at him, but not enough to realize catching it would splatter him with gore. As he stood there, dripping, Bill laughed again. “But seriously, when I’m ready for things to get _real_ , I’ll swing by and see if you’re still alive or whatever. Although...what are your thoughts on me using your corpse to do something _hilarious_ if you’ve died before I really put things in motion? Never mind, you can’t stop me anyway. Later, nerd! Ahahahahahahaha!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prologue was always here.


	2. Chapter 2

Mabel was chuckling when Dipper returned to their room. He paused at the door, listening. He had a mental catalog of Mabel’s laughs, and it was always good to have a general idea of what he was walking into. It wasn’t her cute animal video laugh, her snorting unexpected joke laugh, or, thankfully, her flirty laugh. He hated that giggle, mostly because it came with a two-in-three chance of her getting her heart broken in the end.

Dipper pushed the door open, and caught sight of a messy shock of medium-brown hair on Mabel’s computer screen. When the image shifted, it revealed a round-faced boy around their own age. He had the lightly browned look of a white boy who spent a lot of time outside, scars running along his forehead and cheek, and a crooked grin that was missing a tooth.

“Didn’t you have a full set of teeth last week?” Dipper demanded.

The boy, Jamie, ducked his head, but when he looked back at the screen, he was grinning, clearly demonstrating the gap in his front teeth. “Yeah. It’s okay - it was a baby tooth, otherwise I’d never hear the end of it. Jack, either.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. Jamie Bennett was, by some stroke of luck, friends with some of the most powerful supernatural entities in existence, and used that leverage for extreme sledding. He’d become aware of the Pines twins through their Youtube channel, and Mabel, who never gave up a chance to make new friends, had leapt on the opportunity to talk with him. Dipper still wasn’t sure if there was much point. Jamie had a lot of experience hanging out with Jack Frost and his supernatural Justice League, but his stories were all about sledding and snowball fights and the dreams the Sandman brought him - nothing about the myths or lore behind them.

Candy and Grenda counted him among their consultants for their graphic novel, though, and Mabel thought he was a riot. Or at least found his tales of New England in winter something to envy. It was frankly a surprise that she _wasn’t_ besotted with him.

“Well, while you’ve been sledding, it’s been, what, seventy here?”

“I think it dropped below fifty last week.”

“Right, fifty.” Dipper shoved Mabel aside so he could have six inches to sit on. “What’s going on here, anyway?”

“Oh, Jamie just wanted to talk about the girls’ latest issue.”

“Yeah, Tooth can’t get over how cool she looks! Oh, and Katherine had a whole bunch of notes - I gave her Grenda’s e-mail, if that’s okay.”

“Katherine?” Dipper mouthed at Mabel. She grinned and held up a finger to him.

“Yeah, it’s great! Grenda loves talking to people about the project. But come on - what’s going on with you? Any exciting adventure besides sledding?”

Jamie shook his head, grinning again. “Nah - Pitch has been laying low for a while.”

“Yeah, but what about other things? Yetis and chupacabras and - and Bill Cipher?”

“Well, yetis actually work for Santa Claus. Katherine makes sure people know how to deal with other monsters.” Jamie’s brow furrowed for a moment, biting at his lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard about Bill Cipher.”

“Well-”

“We really shouldn’t talk about him,” Dipper said, slapping a hand over Mabel’s mouth. “He’s _really_ bad news.”

“Really? I’m not a _kid_ ,” Jamie retorted. “I mean, I am, but so are _you_! And I helped fight Pitch Black.”

“Yeah…” Dipper glanced at Mabel, who was glaring at him. He pulled his hand back and gave her a weak smile. Jamie technically had a point, but Dipper couldn’t shake the feeling that talking about Bill made him more powerful. Learning about him had led Dipper and Mabel into more confrontations with him. And there was another point. Jamie’s supernatural friends - Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and all - should know about Bill Cipher, and they hadn’t deigned to warn him about the dream demon.

“I think we should tell him, Dipper.” Mabel’s brown doe-eyed stare had the shimmering of unshed tears, and moreso, it reminded him that Mabel’s instincts had been right when it came to Grunkle Stan’s machine.

“Fine, give me a minute.” Dipper dug under his bed for the third journal, lifting it triumphantly when he got it.

“What’s that?”

“Our Uncle Ford’s journal of the weird and unexplained. He’s got all sorts of stuff in here. Even the tooth fairy - but he says it’s a whole bunch of little things like hummingbirds, and that children’s teeth are...here it is! ‘Repositories of latent memories’, he says.”

“Huh.” Jamie’s forehead wrinkled again; he seemed to do a lot of thinking for someone who spent most of his time performing death-defying stunts. “Most adults don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy.”

Dipper exchanged a glance with Mabel. “I wouldn’t say he...believes, exactly,” Mabel said. “Or he believes in everything.”

“Anyway...here it is.” Dipper flipped open the book to the Bill Cipher page. “I’m going to show you a drawing, Jamie, but you can’t duplicate it. Not even a sketch to explain it. There’s supposed to be an incantation to go with it, but I think it was a one-time thing to allow him to manifest in this realm. So we think drawing the diagram’s enough to get his attention, now.” Once he was sure Jamie was suitably impressed by the gravity of the situation, the other boy worrying his bottom lip with the remaining teeth of his upper jaw, Dipper nodded and flipped the book toward the webcam. 

“This is Bill Cipher. He’s a dream demon, a sort of nightmare spirit, and he’s _bad news_. He makes deals and he’s really tricky with words. If I had to give you one piece of advice, it’d be-”

“Do not summon at all costs?”

Dipper flipped the journal around to scan the page and the blood-red warning that dominated it. “Well, yeah. But you can’t always control whether or not Bill shows up, and if he does, the most important thing is, _don’t agree to anything_. No matter how innocuous it sounds.”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. But you said he’s a dream demon - do you think he has anything to do with Pitch?” And that was a little more thoughtful than Dipper had expected from Jamie.

“I hope not,” Mabel said, shuddering. “He’s a monstrous, manipulative creep. The last thing he needs is to team up with someone with an army of soul-eating monsters at his disposal.”

Jamie blinked at Mabel, wide-eyed at her vehemence. Dipper pushed her aside a little, offering Jamie a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, _don’t_ let him talk you into anything, but don’t sit around putting metal plates in your head or chasing unicorns.”

Jamie’s expression darkened, lips twisting into a scowl as he crossed his arms and slammed them into his chest. “Don’t talk to me about unicorns. One of them called Sophie a gallon of irritation in a pint-sized container.”

“What, no! Unicorns are - are colorful and pretty and-”

“Absolute jerks,” Jamie concluded. “Bunny broke one of their horns off. Told me I could keep it in case I needed to stab a demon in the heart. Oh! Which reminds me!” He bolted back up, pointing at Dipper. “I needed to ask you something. Sophie spent all last December bugging me about getting a present for Bunny - she’s finally caught on to that whole ‘exchanging’ presents thing.”

“Um, we’re Jewish. We don’t do Christmas,” Mabel said.

“Also, it was...two-and-a-half months ago.”

“I know. Bunny’s not big on Christmas, so I thought a Christmas present might be inappropriate. So then she started pestering me about an Easter present.”

“Again, Jewish,” Dipper said with a wave. “But...I didn’t think that was a present holiday? Just...egg hunts? Church?” Mabel shrugged.

“No, you’re right. But it’s _Bunny’s_ holiday - he puts a lot of work into it. So I think she’s right that maybe a present to say thanks for being great and protecting us from monsters would be a good idea.”

Mabel was nodding enthusiastically, which meant the effort was probably worth it. “Well, I’m not that good at presents.”

“He really isn’t. I give him a list every Christmas.”

Jamie slapped his hands impatiently on the desk in front of him. “I know what I want to get him. I wanted to talk to you two - well, Dipper mostly - about how to get it.”

Mabel shoved, sending Dipper tumbling to the floor. “Ooh! Now, I’m intrigued! What is it?”

“Ow!” Dipper rubbed at his stinging shoulder and glared at Mabel, who was awash in the anticipation of creating this perfect present.

“Um, is Dipper okay?”

“He’s fine. Come on, I’m dying over here!”

Jamie shook his head. “Look, you know how Bunny’s the last of his kind?”

“Yeah, ever since that other Pooka turned out to be the evil shapeshifter from Uncle Ford’s lab,” Dipper grumbled. He pulled himself up and shoved Mabel aside to claim some space. And then he paused, a vague memory from last August sparking in his mind. “Uncle Ford said he could make a Pooka detector. Is that what you’re doing? Trying to find other Pooka?”

“Yeah!” Jamie dragged the computer closer to his face, filling the screen entirely with his gap-toothed grin. “How’d you guess?”

“They don’t call us the Mystery Twins for nothing,” Mabel said, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest.

“Nobody calls us the Mystery Twins.”

“Well, if they did, it’d be for a good reason. Dipper’s great at finding things out, and I’m great at keeping us from getting killed.”

“But you _are_ trying to find another Pooka, and you need our help.” Jamie nodded. Dipper grinned and stretched out his hands, cracking the knuckles. “Well, then we are on the case. I’ll check in with Uncle Ford later and see if he’s got any ideas and I’ll call you.”

Dipper ended the call. When he glanced back at Mabel, she was grinning at him. “What?”

“You _like_ him. You want to talk to him for hours about weird supernatural things. Oh my god! Do you think we could go visit him and ski or something?”

Dipper scowled, his cheeks heating. “Look, just because I don’t have many friends-”

“I’m happy for you! I knew the moment I spoke to Jamie that the two of would get along like a house on fire. I just forgot you needed a mystery or whatever to stop being all ‘beep boop, I am a science robot’, and just get excited about stuff!” She slapped Dipper’s back and hopped down from the chair. “Anyway, tell me how the talk with Uncle Ford goes!”

She slipped out of the room, leaving Dipper alone with a blank Skype window and the sneaking suspicion his sister was playing...whatever you’d call a matchmaker for friendships. It was going to get worse, he decided, once she thought he’d reach an acceptable age for dating.


	3. Chapter 3

“Strewth, Jack, what the hell’s this?”

Jack paused in his painting, setting the egg to skitter away on its own, to look over at Bunny, who was holding one of his eggs in his paw. The Pooka’s mouth wasn’t quite downturned, but the tip of his tongue was poking out of his mouth and he kept twisting the egg around to examine it at different angles. It was always a little disconcerting to see Bunny holding the delicate little eggs with his big paws, soldier’s paws for the ages before he became an artist.

“It’s a ‘googie’, or whatever you call those little walking eggs.”

Jack hopped off his stool and circled around Bunny. It was something Jack had finished sometime last night when he’d been feeling sentimental. He felt a flush building at the base of his neck; he reached back and rubbed at it. 

The egg depicted a white rabbit in mid-jump against a background that faded nicely from blue to green. Jack had realized only after he’d finished that the rabbit looked a lot like Bunny stripped of his power. He hadn’t had the heart to redraw it, but was beginning to wish he had.

“I didn’t mean to make any trouble, I can redo it-”

“No!” Bunny pulled the egg closer to his chest, stepping hurriedly away from Jack. “No. It’s grouse - a real beaut. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jack hopped around Bunny in a small circle. “Why?”

“Because of those!” Bunny waved at a stack of eggs decorated to a one with branching fern-like patterns.

Jack shot Bunny a wide grin. “You don’t like them?”

“Nah, they’re...fine. Just a little out-of-season.” Bunny suddenly narrowed his eyes. “What else can you do?”

Jack shrugged. “What do you want? Ducks? Flowers? A nude portrait?”

Bunny snorted. “Not all that different from any other portrait, mate, unless you wanna take the effort to get me excited beforehand.”

And Jack, who’d expected _Bunny_ to sputter indignantly at the suggestion, choked on his own spit and coughed for three minutes straight. It was just as well, because he needed those moments to compose himself. And even then, Jack had to duck his head, cheeks flaming, when he tried to meet Bunny’s eyes. Bunny was sitting there painting an egg, cool as a cucumber, as if he hadn’t just suggested Jack actually-

It had to be a joke; Bunny couldn’t seriously be suggesting - that. But regardless, Jack had gained more intimacy with Pooka anatomy than he ever would have expected when nursing Bunny back to health, which meant Jack could probably make a fair go of that portrait without having Bunny pose for it.

It took another minute or two before Jack found his voice. “You want something other than ferns? I can do snowflakes easy.”

“Nah, do what you like.”

Jack picked up an egg and a brush, but paused before he put brush to the canvas. He glanced at Bunny, who had all but snarled at Jack when he’d threatened to destroy the egg. The Pooka was staring at an egg as he sketched across the surface. The tip of Bunny’s tongue was just visible, a quirk Jack had had time to get used to over the past several months. When Bunny got really absorbed, in painting or thinking or reminiscing, he’d poke his tongue out just a bit. It was something he doubted a single other living being knew about Bunny.

Jack grinned and began painting across his own egg.

With Bunny so absorbed, another six hours passed before Bunny came around. Jack had finished another four eggs, and set them on Bunny’s kitchen table.

One depicted the silhouette of a winged lady fluttering across a background of geometric flowers, green and yellow in sharp edges. Another was midnight blue and a sort of sparkly white set with the image of a sleigh and eight reindeer carrying a tiny figure across the sky. The third was a woman carried through a rainbow sky on the back of a swan, and the last a golden starburst among a field of silver stars.

Jack was still staring at a blank fifth egg when a wide, furry paw landed on his shoulder. He looked up, and for a moment, saw little more than those wide, unblinking green eyes set among blue-grey fur.

“Jackie, you…” Bunny swallowed nervously, shooting a glance at the table and Jack’s eggs. He took a step away from Jack, so that Jack could see the Pooka’s ears twitching erratically. “I don’t see an egg sporting a frozen larrikin.”

Jack waved his blank egg at Bunny. “Just working on it.” Or he’d been trying to; every time Jack tried to draw himself, he’d found it impossible to visualize the right shapes. He blamed it on his still-lingering amnesia, the gaps that still persisted in his memory.

“Well, put it aside a bit and I’ll rustle up some tucker.”

“Are we talking about chopped vegetables or real food? Because I would happily put in the effort to make you a salad if you’re just going to give me a plate of raw carrots.”

Bunny scowled briefly. “I can cook, Snowflake. I just don’t usually have the time to take out of Easter preparations to make myself a fancy meal every night.” He carefully scanned the day’s work, before giving Jack a close-mouthed smile, a little uneven and paired with crinkling around his eyes. And then Bunny let a hint of tooth show through, giving the whole expression something confident, almost challenging. “But I could spare a few minutes to show you up.”

“What, like some sort of Iron Chef thing?”

“Iron…?”

“Never mind. But if you’re up for a wager, you can handle dinner, and I can take a gander at dessert.”

“Alright, mate. Let’s see what sort of treats you can whip up.” And then Bunny _winked_ at him before wandering over to his pantry, whistling.

Jack stuck his tongue out at Bunny’s back before stalking the far side of the kitchen to start on...something. Something that would blow Bunny’s mind and wipe that smirk off his face. He was beginning to feel one-upped by that stupid rabbit, and that. Would. Not. Do.

Bunny was sneaky, he had to admit. Jack didn’t catch the Pooka staring at him at all as they cooked, but he _did_ pass unusually close to Jack whenever they needed to cross past one another. Every time Bunny moved past him, Jack caught a whiff of an earthy smell, overlaid with a lemony scent, and his nose wrinkled of its own accord. Not that Bunny smelled bad, just...that Jack was very aware of it.

It was off-putting. Well, unnerving. Or, more correctly, it just made Jack feel weird. He liked Bunny. Hell, he’d sat down and admitted he _loved_ the grumpy old Pooka, a feeling all but confirmed by the rules of Old Magic. But the past week or so had left Jack feeling adrift, or like he’d wandered onto a stage halfway through a play he didn’t have a script to.

Although Jack was certain he’d found the Cliffs Notes, which made their dinner of roasted squash, nuts, and rice a little more than a meal between friends. And it made the sweet grain cake Jack had made seem inadequate, even though Bunny cheerfully inhaled about two-thirds of it.

Once they were finished, Jack bolted up from his chair. “I gotta - check those weather systems. And low pressure...blizzard conditions.”

Bunny sat back and gave Jack a lazy grin, something that actually revealed his teeth. “Yeah, alright. You coming by tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna - yeah. Gotta make sure you don’t forget to eat.” And with that, Jack fled.


	4. Chapter 4

The phone rang twice before someone picked it up. “Pines here.”

“Hey, Uncle Ford.”

“Oh, hey, Dipper! How are you doing on those puzzles I sent you?”

Dipper looked up at the whiteboard stuck over his bed, and at the scribbled notes that represented days of frustration. “Fine, fine.” He wiped away a note Mabel had added; it wasn’t fair to get help from his sister. “But this is about something else. I remember, back in August, you said you could make some sort of...tracker to find Pooka. Can you still do that?”

“Ah.” Uncle Ford let out a huff of a sigh. “Yes…if I could get a genetic sample from _two_ Pooka.”

“Oh.” Dipper let the silence between them stretch for a few moments. “So sort of a Catch-22, there.”

“Dipper, what’s going on?”

“I’m just trying to do a favor for...well, Aster, eventually. The Easter Bunny. I thought we might be able to track down any survivors from his planet.”

“Planet...that might just work!” Dipper heard a rustling of papers. That went on for several minutes without Uncle Ford speaking up.

“Uncle Ford?”

“Oh! Sorry, Dipper. You just made me realize there may be another way. I’ve only had access to limited samples of the technology, but I’m certain there’s only one method of interstellar travel, and that means _all_ alien ships use the same type of propulsion system. I’d just need to check out an alien warp engine to make sure my notes on the subject are accurate...maybe use some more sensitive instruments.”

“O...kay. And how long will that take? I’m asking on the presumption you don’t just have an alien spaceship in the back yard.”

“Not in the literal backyard, but yes, there is one in town. Where did you think I got the parts to make an interdimensional gateway?”

“Wait - what?”

“Hey, how about I call your parents and see if I can’t get you up here for a day or two to check it out?”

“Yeah, that would be - wow, Uncle Ford, that’d be great! I’ll just tell Mabel, and-”

“How about it just be you, kid? Your sister’s great, but I think this might be a little...intense for her.”

Dipper took a deep breath, glancing at Mabel’s side of the room, the wall coated with posters for bands, lurid animated movies, and the NASA Christmas party. “I don’t know, Uncle Ford. She’s really smart, and she’s got _really_ good instincts. I mean, not when it comes to boys. But otherwise.”

A sigh. “Look, Dipper. I know you love Mabel - like I said, she’s great. But you and she are very different people. And if you let her hold you back-”

“Do you know how I survived my first summer in Gravity Falls, Uncle Ford? Because of _Mabel_. Because of _Grunkle Stan_. Maybe they don’t like writing things down, but they’re people I need.”

“They might be useful, Dipper, but they don’t have our priorities-”

“Maybe I don’t have your priorities, either. I realized something this winter. Your journals are catalogues. You might have been studying the strangeness in Gravity Falls, but it was just to learn stuff, not to help people.”

“And what about now? I’m _helping_ , Dipper, because of everything I’ve learned.” When Dipper didn’t respond immediately, Uncle Ford sighed. “But maybe you’re right. I’ll see if your parents will let you...and Mabel come along.”

“Thanks, Uncle Ford. You won’t regret this.”

With their parents’ agreement, Mabel and Dipper were sent to visit Uncle Ford that weekend. Dipper had to prevent Mabel from calling Candy and Grenda, pointing out that with the eight-hour trip each way, they didn’t have time to meet up with anyone.

The bus was ready to leave in about ten minutes when the bus station faded away to be replaced by Uncle Ford’s basement lab. Uncle Ford looked up from a row of consoles and waved at them.

“Hey, Dipper, Mabel.”

Mabel bounced to Uncle Ford’s side to give him a hug; Dipper had to stare at his surroundings for a few moments. They’d been back in the Piedmont bus terminal only a few moments ago...hadn’t they?

“What did you - I mean, we-”

Uncle Ford laughed. “You like that? I’ve finally worked all the bugs out of my teleporter. Well, most of them. One endpoint still needs to be this room, so it’s still a little limited.”

“Uncle Ford, that is so cool!” Dipper gravitated toward the console and the equations that drifted across the screen. “Did you get this from the spaceship?”

“No, this one I figured out myself. Speaking of the spaceship, though, I want to get down there as early as possible. It’ll give me time to work on the spacecraft detector, and give you both time to see your friends.”

“Ooh!” Mabel ran into Uncle Ford, wrapping her arms around him. She’d grown a little taller than chest-high on him, making the startled embrace a little less awkward. “You’re awesome, Uncle Ford.”

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.” When he pushed Mabel away, his hand lingered on her head before he stepped away, and Dipper grinned. All Uncle Ford needed was to spend a little more time with Mabel, and he’d get it.

The spaceship was out by Gravity Bluffs, the strange oval gap in the landscape apparently the traces of the crash. The ship itself was covered by earth, and accessible only by a hatch set in the ground. And the interior…

It was everything Dipper would expect from an alien spacecraft, lit by eerie blue lighting, full of strange technology, and full of strange structures he didn’t understand the purpose of. They stopped at a platform high above a floor so far away it was lost in the darkness.

“Okay, I need each of you to take one of these.” Uncle Ford handed them each a device that looked something like a high-tech grappling hook. “Just follow me and be careful.” He flipped a switch and leapt at a pillar. The device stuck to the pillar, allowing Uncle Ford to spiral safely downward.

Dipper looked over at Mabel and grabbed onto her free arm. “Okay, go ahead.”

She grinned and activated the device, stepped back, and sprinted forward, dragging Dipper with her. He moved, tightening his grip on Mabel as she hit the pillar and the two of them began spinning around the pillar _much faster_ than Uncle Ford had.

They both screamed all the way down; the only difference is that when Dipper hit the ground, it was to fall on his knees and resist the urge to kiss the ancient spaceship floor. 

“Calm down, Dipper.”

“Can’t - give me a-”

Uncle Ford’s hand began rubbing Dipper’s back. “I’m serious; you need to calm down. The guards down here sense-”

A loud humming heralded the arrival of a pair of ten-foot-tall silver orbs gliding across the ground. Sensors or something in the form of inverted triangles gleamed red in the dim space. 

“Dipper, you need to calm down; these guards sense and react to fear, so we need to be not...afraid.” A blast of light sent Ford flying, and the orbs drew closer. Dipper’s heart, counter to Uncle Ford’s orders, started pounding wildly. One of the orbs opened, its interior revealing flexible metal tentacles.

“Oh, god!” Dipper tried to scramble to his feet, to run, to do anything, but his whole body was paralyzed with fear.

“Dipper, take a deep breath!”

“I’m _trying_ , Mabel!”

“Dipper, you need to calm down. It’s not going to hurt you!”

“Did you see those guns? I can’t-”

“Dipper, you’re a hopeless waste of space and I don’t know why I even bother spending time with you!”

“What?” Everything stopped for a moment, Dipper’s racing heart and rapid breathing skipping a step. He couldn’t even formulate a thought, because Mabel didn’t - wouldn’t-

And as he scrambled for mental footing, he realized everything had gone silent. He looked back, and the metal tentacles had frozen. As Dipper continued to stare, the tentacles retracted, until they were only spheres again. They turned, and floated away.

And then Mabel launched herself at Dipper, chattering as she grabbed him in a tight hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it you just wouldn’t listen so I needed to shock you out of it-”

“You ran a big risk, Mabel. These guards work off of sensing adrenaline - if you got him angry-”

Mabel turned to Uncle Ford just enough to shake her head. “Nope. It’s just fear, Uncle Ford. I’ve got a suspicion about this place…” She scrambled up and brushed off the grime from the floor. “But you wanted to find the engine room, right?”

She turned on her heel and headed in an apparently random direction, leaving Uncle Ford staring after her. Dipper resisted the urge to tell Uncle Ford he’d told him so, but he did saunter after her, whistling. The ground level finally showed evidence of age and scavenging; many electronics were in pieces, circuit boards and other pieces removed, and broken tubes and consoles.

Dipper swore when he kicked a small piece of rubble that refused to move. Bending down, he found a cracked container filled with a viscous dark liquid; some of the liquid had seeped between the rubble and floor, fixing them together. The same fluid seemed to have sealed the crack. A slap on his shoulders nearly made Dipper drop it again.

“That’s a universal adhesive. I couldn’t think of anything I needed it for, and it seems like a bad sort of thing to have lying around the Mystery Shack.”

“What sort of ship _was_ this?”

Uncle Ford gave Mabel a startled look. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, they’ve got interdimensional gateways and universal glues-”

“Well, the interdimensional gateway was actually an adaptation of some sensory arrays. I didn’t think they were much use until I got some advice-” He stopped, mouth twisting uncomfortably before he stormed off deeper into the ship.

Dipper paused for a moment, trying to choose between sticking with Mabel and chasing down his uncle to make sure he didn’t get killed or anything. But then she waved him away.

“Go on. I wanna check something out…”

Dipper hurried after Uncle Ford, freezing when he heard a voice.

“You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, Ford. You made a deal, and you’re still paying for it.”

Dipper tried to keep his heart from racing. It made sense, hearing it, that Ford had made a deal with Bill - the journal had once referred to the dream demon as a great guy, before Ford had come to his senses. But a part of him still must have seen Uncle Ford as someone smarter, no, _wiser_ than Dipper.

He took a deep breath and stepped around the corner to find Uncle Ford glaring at his own reflection in a still-intact console screen.

“I made a deal with him, too, Ford. And I...should have known better. He gets inside people’s heads - I mean, he does that, too, but he’s all evil and manipulative. And you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

Ford started; Dipper could see the panic, the shame, the sad shift in his expression, in Ford’s reflection. And then the man turned, smiling weakly at Dipper.

“You heard that.”

“Look, Bill’s a bad guy. And he tricked a lot of people. We aren’t the first, and...we’re probably not the last. But I know he’s trouble, and I’m making sure other people know that, too. Jamie - the kid who came up with this whole Pooka hunt - isn’t going to get tricked by Bill. So I think something good came out of it.”

“You might be right.” Ford’s smile widened, was reflected by a crinkling of his eyes. “I suppose you’ll tell me that’s your sister talking.”

“No. I’ve gotten really big on trying to stop preventable disasters. You develop some very healthy caution when you spend a summer running around the house of a mad scientist who didn’t have time to clear out the really dangerous stuff before hopping off to another dimension.”

Ford winced. “Dipper-”

“Hey guys! I found something!”

It took a minute to follow Mabel’s shouts, an effort made slightly harder by her insistence at treating it like a game of Marco Polo. They found her in a wide, egg-shaped room dominated by a series of chambers still glowing with a pure, white light.

“You found the engine room, Mabel. Good work.”

“That...wasn’t what I was talking about.” She dragged Uncle Ford around to the back of the room, where someone had smeared...what was probably not paint across the wall. Even if it was ancient, dried blood, the potential violence was the least worrying part about the graffiti.

“That’s Bill,” Ford said flatly.

“But that’s not his wheel.” 

On second look, the wheel around the drawing of Bill was different from the image detailed in Ford’s journal - there were twelve segments, showing unfamiliar symbols. And Bill himself looked different. Simpler - just a triangle inscribed with a circle.

Dipper glanced up at Uncle Ford. “Did you draw this?”

“I’ve never seen this variation of the Cipher Annulus before. But people _have_ drawn a number of differing Annuli to represent him. Bill Cipher’s presented himself as a muse, and several cultures call him forth with their own symbols of wisdom and knowledge.”

“But how long has this ship been here?”

“Ages and ages,” Mabel said. “It was built to study Fearlings, and Aster said they’ve been here as long as people have - maybe longer.”

“Wait - what makes you think it was studying Fearlings?” Ford drew around to tug Mabel away from the wall, looking her in the eye.

“Well, I think it’s actually a medical ship. They’ve got a lot of cots, and it doesn’t seem to be for sleepovers. I found a couple more things of glue, and they weren’t in an arts and crafts room. Oh - and I bet you got lifesign scanners or whatever like from Star Trek from here.”

“How did you-”

“You said you could track Pooka with enough genetic samples,” Dipper concluded. “She’s right - that sounds like a repurposed medical device. The glue - you think it’s a medical sealant?” Mabel nodded. “But what about the Fearlings?”

“The guards are super scary, but they’re not good guards. If you can sneak in just by not being scared, anyone who knows the trick can just waltz right in. They’re not looking for intruders - they’re looking for _symptoms_. The Fearlings drown you in fear, Jamie told me. So the guards are looking for Fearlings - or people influenced by them.”

“But what about Bill Cipher? What’s his thing doing here?”

“Cipher wanted this ship to be here for someone to find it. He wanted someone to have the tools to make an interdimensional portal. He probably diverted this ship a million light years to make sure it was sitting underneath this hill for me.”

And Dipper, whose mind was always hopping forward, jumping into the infinite possibilities, followed that to its logical conclusion. If Bill influenced someone to crash the ship millions of years ago, he’d have found no one who could use it. He’d needed someone with the expertise to adapt the technology. How much intervention would he have needed to take to make sure humanity eventually produced someone like Uncle Ford?

And then Mabel had to voice, again, the thought that had been nagging at Dipper for a while now. “Do you think he’s got anything to do with the Fearlings?”

“No,” Ford concluded. “Bill Cipher is weak because he can’t influence the material world without a host body. If he could create things like that, he would have done so whenever it struck his fancy. Now, all this talk of Bill is making me want to get out of here ASAP, so give me a minute to check out the readings on this thing.”

So Dipper sat quietly, watching Uncle Ford circle the engine, while Mabel scrambled over crates, trying to find who knew what. He decided not to voice the thought that occurred to him, because it probably didn’t matter any more.

Bill Cipher didn’t have the power to create or control things like the Fearlings. But if there had ever been such a person, the chance that Bill had a hand in their creation rose substantially.

It didn’t matter much, now. Such a person was likely dead in the millions of years since the Fearlings first came into being.

He shared these thoughts with Jamie later that evening. Mabel had bolted to meet with her friends, and Dipper, finding himself at odds, called the other boy.

“I don’t know about all of that. The Golden Age - back before Pitch and all that - had a lot of magic and technology and stuff that might be both, or neither? The Man in the Moon sort of made the Guardians.”

Now, _that_ was interesting. Dipper straightened and leaned in close to the screen. “You’re saying Santa Claus is...what, some sort of science experiment?”

Jamie shook his head. “No. The Man in the Moon did something to them, giving them power based on what people believe about them. It’s like - I don’t think he’s good at using his power to fight, but he can help make people who can. Jack said it has something to do with him being space royalty.”

“Jeez. I thought there was enough weird stuff to learn about Gravity Falls. _This_ is just - I wish there was somewhere I could just go and read about it.”

“There is. Katherine just doesn’t let people in all that often, but I could put in a good word for you.”

“What?”

Jamie shrugged, a small grin flickering across his face. “Katherine - Mother Goose - keeps most of the history of the Golden Age, and the Guardians. I’m pretty sure she’d let you poke around if I put in a good word for you.”

“And you’d do that?”

“Yeah!” Jamie abruptly pulled back, but he was still smiling. “My friends out here think it’s pretty cool that the Tooth Fairy and Santa and everything exists - but they don’t really care about all the...stories and whatnot. It’s nice to talk to someone who wants to know more about all this.”

Dipper couldn’t help but grinning back at Jamie. “I don’t know why. You said something about magic they used back when they had starships with warp drives, and that’s just mind-blowing! And if I can dig around, maybe I can get some answers about how long Bill Cipher’s been around.”

Jamie seemed to sober at that, leaning down on his arms and offering Dipper a thoughtful frown. “He really freaks you out, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. I just - Pitch is crazy-evil, obviously, but I sort of get what he wants. Bill...he might be a dream demon, but I’ve got no idea what his end game is. He does stuff, and even if I figure out what he’s trying to do, I never get _why_. I can’t predict him. I mean, we haven’t seen eye or corner of him in over a year, but I keep running into evidence he’s out there, _up to something_.” Panting, frustrated, Dipper realized he’d just shouted at someone he barely knew, about stuff he usually kept quiet about in front of _Mabel_. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t apologize.” Jamie leaned back, looking even more serious than before, brow furrowed. “I didn’t really think - when you talked about him earlier, I thought Bill Cipher was one of those weird spirits that float around and offer to grant wishes. If you’re right, it’s good to be worried. But...Jack told me something about Pitch, and I think this is the same. If I sit around worrying what Pitch is doing all the time, it’ll drive me crazy. I mean, watching out for him, and taking sensible precautions is good, but panicking because you don’t see the big picture...well, he doesn’t think it helps.”

“So what, don’t worry, be happy?”

“No, just don’t worry about the stuff you’ve got no idea about. I’ll still tell Katherine to let you take a look, and see if there’s anything about Bill Cipher. But don’t make yourself sick about it.”

And maybe talking to someone about it lifted some of Dipper’s stress, because a chuckle escaped him, startling both him and Jamie.

“What-”

“I was just remembering. Making myself sick about stuff actually helped us beat Bill, once. I was so stressed and sleep-deprived, I made a deal with him, and ended up getting possessed. But possessing a woozy, frail twelve-year-old doesn’t have a lot of benefits.”

Jamie snorted. “Well, maybe he’s not all that much of a threat, after all.”

“I wish.” But some of the tension in Dipper’s chest was gone, and when he went to bed, he slept easier than he had in weeks.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack had run into Sandy nearly an hour after leaving Bunny’s. He’d been whipping up a storm, trying to see if he could get it to look like a snowman, when he’d spotted the golden sand, and, eventually, the wishing star himself (itself? Sandy had never really made that item clear, and everyone else used ‘he’, so Jack had done the same).

Jack soared up to the cloud that always surrounded Sandy, muttered a quick thanks to the wind, and then waved at Sandy.

“Is there room for two up here?”

Sandy extended his arm to Jack in a welcoming gesture. A chair formed from the sand as Jack landed, but vanished when Jack shook his head, grinning. It was easy to get along with Sandy, who made an effort to be accommodating. It had taken a little while to get used to the fact that Sandy was mildly telepathic, and had a tendency to pick up on and respond to people’s desires before they were voiced. He didn’t mean anything malicious in it, and Jack suspected Sandy didn’t have much control over his telepathy, anyway. He clearly understood enough to avoid embarrassing people, though, which was a blessing.

“So, how’s the dream-crafting business going?”

Sandy smiled gently, but placed a hand horizontal and rocked it back and forth. So-so, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Good, good.”

A curl of sand formed a melting snowman, and Jack couldn’t quite conceal his wince. It’d been a warm winter, due in part to all the time he’d spent around Bunny.

“I just thought everyone was due for a break this year.”

Sandy grinned, and the sand shifted to show Jack and Bunny huddled over a set of eggs. Jack rolled his eyes; there wasn’t much point in demanding how Sandy knew things. _Everyone_ talked to him.

“Yeah, I’ve been keeping Bunny from overexerting himself. _And_ making sure he eats properly. It’s a full time job, you know.”

Sandy nodded eagerly, but the sand shifted, showing Jack in a frilly maid’s outfit and, yes, bunny ears, running around dusting things. At Jack’s glare, Sandy ducked his head, but he was still grinning.

Jack waved his hand through the sand, disrupting the shapes. “Anyway, it’s been great. Once he stops acting like a grumpy old bunny, he’s - well, still grumpy, but he cares about people. Nearly bit his tongue off when he saw I could paint properly.” And mention of the events of that night reminded Jack why he’d taken off to blow up some snow. “Has he been acting weird lately?”

Sand flowed to form an hourglass.

“Like the past couple of...weeks or so.”

Sandy shook his head; his sand formed a question mark. 

“I don’t know. I thought I was imagining it. He’s been getting up in my space, watching me, and I’m almost certain he was _flirting_ with me!”

Sandy raised one eyebrow delicately. A little sand heart with an arrow in it appeared next to him.

“I’m not stupid,” Jack retorted. “I’m just wondering...what happened? Why’s he suddenly acting like he - you know?”

Sandy pointed at the heart again, his sign that Jack had missed some aspect of what Sandy was trying to get through. Jack stared at the shape before shrugging helplessly. Sandy sighed and the heart flew apart to show a cherubic figure fluttering around Bunny’s head, aiming an arrow at him-

“I _get_ it, okay? Yes, Bunny can get all twitterpated; he’s not just a grumpy old rabbit. It’s just, he wasn’t acting like this...three weeks ago. I’d think I would have noticed if Bunny liked me.” Jack was well aware he was starting to sulk, but he was beginning to feel a little like Sandy was making fun of him.

Sandy took a deep breath, staring at his sand picture before wiping out the whole thing with a wipe of his hand. Then he focused for a long moment. When the sand reformed, it was of Bunny holding a heart-shaped box and long-stemmed roses, sand shaped like a folded card tucked among the stems. Sandy pointed at the scene emphatically.

Jack didn’t shout this time. He stared at the scene. Obviously Sandy wasn’t trying to point out Bunny liked him; they’d established that fact pretty well. If Jack decided to stop being frustrated and think, it was clear Sandy was trying to answer his question. All he was getting was an image of Bunny set up for some romantic evening, like Valen-

Jack slapped his forehead. “Valentine’s Day! That was like two weeks ago. But Bunny doesn’t even _like_ Valentine’s Day? Why would he-” He paused, glancing at the sand image. Sandy had made a little Cupid before…

The thought that Bunny’s behavior might be due to Cupid’s influence sent a spark of fury through Jack’s gut; that anyone would dare force Bunny to act like that, to do anything he didn’t want with his whole heart…

Something tickled his nose, causing Jack to sneeze. When Jack looked around, Sandy was shaking his arms, cracking ice covering them. Sandy waved cheerily at Jack, but was moving stiffly.

“Oh! Sorry.” Jack tried to pull back his power to make the ice easier to remove. “Sorry. You just mentioned Cupid, and I...do you think he has anything to do with it?”

Sandy responded with a wide-eyed look, surprised, and shrugged after a moment’s thought. He then raised his pointer finger and gestured at his sand, forming it into a smiling Jack. Be nice, Jack suspected.

“I’ll give him a chance to explain,” Jack said, summoning the wind. “But no promises if he’s messed with Bunny’s head.”

Cupid was typically hard to find; he had no iconic dwelling, and had plenty of incentive to avoid other people - spirit or otherwise. He had more than enough work without people asking him to do more, and people irate at Cupid’s actual or perceived actions - Jack being a prime example - were not people the peaceful spirit needed to meet.

But every type of spirit had little knacks, tricks they couldn’t properly explain to anyone else how they worked. And tricksters were good at finding people, especially those who didn’t want to be found.

Jack found Cupid drinking at a singles bar in Daytona, a chubby pale guy with a blond mullet and a dark amber gaze. He looked a little drained, perhaps taking a break after Valentine’s. Cupid didn’t seem to notice Jack, so he ambled in a circuitous route before coming to stop right behind the other spirit.

“Heyyyyyy, Cupie.”

“Oh.” Cupid looked back at Jack, eyes dulling at the sight of him. “Jack Frost.”

“Mind if I take a seat?”

Cupid shrugged. He looked tired, almost defeated. “I can’t stop you.”

Jack slipped into a chair next to Cupid and watched the other spirit drink down a glass of what smelled like nectar, the only drink in existence that was 250 proof.

“So. I’ve been hanging out with the Easter Bunny lately.”

“Nope.” Cupid drained his glass and slammed it down on the bar. “Another.” The bartender, in opposition to all reason, saw and responded to the spirit with another glass of nectar.

“What?”

“I’m not doing it. I don’t mess with your types. It’s bad enough with the mortals getting angry with me when they don’t agree with it - I don’t need to make any more immortal enemies.”

“What?” Jack leaned around to face Cupid, who was sipping morosely at his cup. “Bunny started acting really weird a couple of weeks ago, and I thought-”

“Please. You think I’m responsible every time someone goes all stupid with love over someone else? I mean, to be honest, if I were to pull one over on any of you, it’d be the Pooka. Moping around for absolute eons, bringing down the whole mood of the place.” He turned, giving Jack a once-over, before smirking. “He’s got good taste.”

“Wait. Back up. You’re saying - all the staring, hanging around my personal space, the comments - you’re not responsible for any of it?”

“Oh, if we’re talking _responsible_ , I might have swung by, trying to see if the spring spirit was going to be in a better mood this year. And I _might_ have asked him some pointed questions. A spirit that old, it’s time he explored the field a little. But did I sneak him one of my potions? No. I try not to do that except as a last resort. And the way _you’re_ talking, he didn’t need that little jump start.” Significantly more cheery, Cupid downed the rest of his glass. “And here I thought you were going to beg me to make that overgrown rabbit fall in love with you.”

“I was actually planning to beat you up because I thought you _had_.”

Cupid twisted his head around to face Jack, mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I was wrong. He’s got _excellent_ taste. Now, come on, I’ll get you a drink.”

Jack waved him away. “I drink North’s egg nog and Bunny’s scumble, and that’s about it.”

“Oh, no no no. You can’t turn down an offer of nectar from a veritable Greek god. Bad luck, you know. Barkeep!”

Another glass of golden liquid, so alcoholic it passed into some mythical state, smelling of flowers, slid across the bar into Cupid’s waiting hand.

“Go on.”

Knowing that nothing he did under the influence of the drink of the gods would be a worse idea than offending one of them, Jack braced himself and drained the glass in one sustained drink. The fumes hit him at about the same time the pleasant numbness began spreading through his mouth. He heard a voice that seemed distant and watery.

“Ooh, bad idea, dude. You gotta acclimatize yourself to this stuff over a couple centuries. Hey, you gonna be okay?”

When Jack came to, it was to a cool, dry darkness. He sat up, but the process proved to be a little difficult, as he was tangled up in soft, expansive blankets. Once he managed to extricate himself, he took a careful look around. He was in an egg-shaped room, small but cozy, dominated by the pile of blankets and some sort of padding Jack had awoken in. A small table sat near where his head was, topped with a ceramic cup. Jack took it, sniffed carefully, and when it proved to be water, drank it down.

There was something familiar about the room; it took a moment to place it as the style of Bunny’s home. When that occurred to Jack, he had a panicked moment where he thought he was in _Bunny’s_ room, Bunny’s _bed_. But Jack was much more familiar with that space, and this was not it. It was most likely one of the smaller rooms he’d seen nearby, either a guest room or one easily repurposed.

Nothing hurt, but Jack wasn’t ready to decide he’d escaped consequences from that drink. He was glad he hadn’t somehow managed to talk himself into Bunny’s bed, but the fact he’d crawled his way into Bunny’s house allowed for any number of embarrassing revelations.

He scrambled to his feet, glad to find he was still in his clothing, and poked his head out into the tunnels. It was the work of only a few minutes to track down Bunny, who was painting in his kitchen.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be painting outside of my supervision.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t the one who decided to go out and get drunk with _Olympians_.” There was an edge to Bunny’s voice that Jack hadn’t heard in years. “I got a call from _Eros_ saying you needed help getting home because he was afraid you’d crash into the Atlantic.” Bunny bent back down to his painting, but Jack could see the scowl on the Pooka’s face.

“Are you...upset?”

“You’re three hundred years old; I don’t have any say in how you spend your time.”

_But you want to_ , Jack so wanted to say. It was followed almost immediately by another thought, how it might look to Bunny. Jack had bolted from what could only reasonably be interpreted as a romantic dinner and showed up hours later, drunk and in the presence of a god of desire. It was more than jealousy - it was likely a sense of betrayal, heartbreak, and the thought of it made Jack’s chest feel a little constricted.

“Aww, were you worried about my virtue? Don’t worry; I can take care of myself.” Yep, that made that big back stiffen, and Jack could see Bunny grit his teeth. “And FYI, Cupid is _not_ my type.” Bunny jolted, and the egg he was holding cracked. Jack winced. Bunny didn’t have the time to waste eggs like that; the fact that he’d taken the time to make dinner the night before should’ve made things a little clearer.

“But you’re right; I’ve been an irresponsible supervisor. I’ll grab a brush, and I’ll even promise to leave off the ferns.”

Bunny was staring at Jack, mouth a little open, eyes not quite focusing. Point for him, Jack presumed.

“Come on, cadet, time’s a wasting!”

“R-right!”

It made a nice change, having Bunny unbalanced because of Jack. But there really _wasn’t_ time to relish that change, as much of Bunny’s, and thus Jack’s, time had to be dominated by painting.

Jack wouldn’t have dreamed of upsetting Bunny on purpose, but seeing that reaction put everything into a little better perspective. Moreso that Bunny, hearing Jack was blackout drunk from nectar, had rushed over to make sure Jack got to a bed safely.

...Jack was pretty sure _he_ was the one with good taste, here.


	6. Chapter 6

The call came a week later. “Hey, Dipper. I got a couple of blips on the thing. Area 51, which was to be expected, but is a waste of time. I do not have time to explain, but trust me. The second is in Kaua’i.”

“Hawaii?”

“Yeah. Nice place. Lots of sun.”

“Well, that’s cool and all, but how are we-”

Dipper’s room faded to be replaced by Ford’s lab. Mabel was already sitting on a folding chair near the main console.

“Hi, Dipper!”

Dipper sighed. “I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve of you teleporting us all around the world without their permission.”

“Oh, no. They said I can have you over ‘any time’. Exact words.”

“Wait a minute.” Dipper stared at Uncle Ford. There was something not quite right about him. He darted forward and grabbed at Uncle Ford’s hands, pulling off a glove. Five fingers wiggled beneath them. “Grunkle Stan? Does Ford know you’re using his teleporter?”

“He knows I have _access_ to it. Anyway, I thought we could have one of these exciting science adventures together!”

“This was sort of Uncle Ford’s thing-”

Grunkle Stan snorted. “Come on, I know you’re just trying to find some alien Superman ship or whatever. There’s going to be a lot of trying to get answers from people, and which of us is the charmer?”

It was hard to argue with Grunkle Stan on that point - not because of any objective evidence, but in the fact that he had somehow managed to keep the Mystery Shack afloat for decades. “Well, okay. But we probably should try to be back for dinner.”

“Awesome! Pines March vacation go!”

They arrived behind a small storefront, a building open to the elements and staffed by an elderly woman who didn’t seem to notice as they walked past her. The street that housed the store was a wide unpaved path, and carrying fewer tourists than Dipper would have expected.

Grunkle Stan clapped his hands. “Okay, kids, intelligence gathering 101. You gotta be charming, oblique, and never let someone know what you’re looking for. So we’ll just split up-”

Mabel turned to a wide, brown-skinned man in a skirt passing by. “Hey! I like your skirt! Can you tell me where there might be aliens around here?”

The man paused, smiling gently at Mabel. “I think you might want the Pelekai’s house. But it’s supposed to be a secret.” He raised a finger to his lips, and Mabel nodded eagerly.

And then she turned back to Dipper and Grunkle Stan. “Done!”

Grunkle Stan ran a hand through his hair. “That’s one way to do it, kiddo. Alright, let’s find these Pelekais.”

The Pelekai house was a little blue house on stilts overlooking a valley; there were signs of frequent repairs, and several repaintings. An observatory or something was perched on the roof. It didn’t look...all that strange. 

Mabel took the lead, sprinting up the wooden stairs that wound up to the front door, and knocking at it eagerly.

After a moment, the door opened to reveal a yellow-green form with a single eye. Dipper screamed and tried to drag Mabel back before he realized the figure, a willowy alien shorter than Grunkle Stan, was dressed in a bright blue dress and crisp apron.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes!” Mabel stepped forward out of Dipper’s grip, reaching out a hand. “We are looking for aliens, which is a happy accident, because you _are_ an alien.”

“Haha, how droll,” the alien said, reaching up a three-fingered hand to adjust its fluffy blond wig. “I am Wendy Pelekai; my lovely niece Nani lets me live here and help take care of darling Lilo.” A distant scream and crash made Wendy wince, but she kept up her smile.

“You have three legs,” Dipper said. “And one eye. I can _see_ you don’t have ears!”

“How inconsiderate, bringing attention to a lady’s flaws! If you don’t have anything better to do than harass people, I think you should leave-”

“Look, can you just tell us if there’s been any Pooka living around here?”

Dipper’s outburst actually seemed to shock Wendy; her eye widened, and her mouth pausing mid-word. And then she chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know where you heard that word, but Pooka don’t exist - here, or anywhere. Next you’ll be worrying about Fearlings! But come on in; I’m sorry about the facade, but Bubbles has insisted we try to keep a low profile.” She stepped aside to allow them in, guiding them to a messy kitchen. “It’s an absolute mess, but what can you do when you live with two children and a mad scientist?”

Dipper followed, but it was more sedately. The way Wendy was talking, she thought Pooka - and Fearlings - were fairy tales. And that made useful intelligence something they were unlikely to find. But Mabel would pout if Dipper insisted they leave, and Grunkle Stan needed at least five minutes to scout a place properly. So he sat at the little table and accepted a cup of tea from Wendy.

A moment later, a blue blur rocketed into the kitchen and hit a cabinet, denting it.

“Stitch! How many times do I have to tell you not to run inside?”

The blue form uncurled to show a long-eared blue creature, something like a dog or...koala. It bared its teeth at Wendy.

“Soka,” it growled.

“Apologize like you mean it!”

“Naga!” Stitch stuck its tongue out at Wendy before grabbing at the refrigerator.

“Lilo!”

A girl, probably a young teen, poked her head around the door. She wore her dark hair loose to cascade down her back, and when she saw Stitch, frowned expressively. 

“Stitch, you know we’re supposed to keep the uproar to a minimum when Pleakley has...guests?” She stepped fully into the room, revealing she was clad in a loose purple dress that was likely a concession to the omnipresent warmth. She narrowed her eyes, whole face crinkling around her large nose as she examined them. And then she grinned and approached Dipper.

“Hey! I’m Lilo!”

“I’m Mabel! This nerd is my brother Dipper. And this is-”

“Ralph Witherspoon,” Grunkle Stan interrupted. “No relation.”

“We’re looking for aliens,” Dipper said. “But...Pleakley says she can’t help us.”

“I thought you looked smarter than that. Pleakley _is_ an alien. I think it’s the wig that fools people.”

“ _Different_ aliens,” Dipper clarified. “We’re trying to help a friend of ours find other members of his species.” He gave Pleakley a pointed look, but the alien scoffed.

“Look, I’m all for helping intergalactic refugees connect with their families, but if you expect me to believe there’s a _Pooka_ wandering around the planet-”

“Have always been suspicious of Easter Bunny. First suspected when saw similarity in appearance between Earth rabbit and Pooka.” A monstrously large alien, dark blue and tan, with four eyes, sidled into the room. In deference to the climate, or his disguise, he was wearing a flowered hawaiian style shirt and loose slacks.

Pleakley shot him a sharp look herself. “Don’t go off telling them fairy tales, Jumba. You don’t want them flitting off trying to find wishing stars or believing in Fearlings-”

Dipper and Jumba snorted in unison; Dipper stared at the larger alien suddenly as he chuckled, shaking his head. “Is so much wrong with this, I don’t know where to start. First, Pooka do exist - or did. Stitch is part Pooka. Some think genetic experiment all about mixing up new genes in lab somewhere. Is foolish, wasteful. I look for ways to combine in new ways. And 626 was meant to be adamant font of destructive fury. Was no better creature for that than ancient race of Pooka. And is very dangerous to not believe in Fearlings. Oh, almost none to be found anywhere, but if you find them, must be prepared. At the very least, to end it all if no other way out.”

This seemed to have shocked the others into silence; Dipper, however, had something he needed to ask.

“You said...Stitch was part Pooka. Do you have a pure genetic sample of a Pooka?”

Jumba glanced at Dipper before shaking his head. “Sadly, when Galactic Federation arrested me for crimes against nature, much of my research was destroyed. However…” He looked at Lilo. “You might be able to help.”

“I don’t have a genetic sample, either!”

“Ah, yes. But Cobra Bubbles _likes_ you. He might listen if you ask for help finding lost Pooka. Might know of some secret government bunker where old spaceship is. Just not - Area 51.”

“Wait - what’s the deal with Area 51?”

“ _Not_ helpful,” Jumba responded. “But yes, we take your number, get in touch, see if we cannot find lost Pooka.”

“And Stitch meet?”

Dipper glanced at the alien-dog-thing, surprised. Lilo grabbed at his ears, grinning. “Only if you’re good!” Jumba, however, looked thoughtful.

“May not be good idea. Do not know how Pooka would react to genetic experiment sharing his genes.”

“Stitch isa bootifa! Pooka haga!”

“Yeah!” Lilo chimed in. “Stitch is awesome! A model citizen! If I were a Pooka-thingie, I’d be ecstatic to find out we shared the same genes!”

“Well, we will see. For now, I think visit over.”

Amid groans from Mabel and Lilo, Stan gave Jumba a cheery grin. “You sure we couldn’t take a peek around your lab? It sounds fascinating!”

“I think...not. You know how it is - one too many thefts to trust people poking around. No, will call later, yes? Excellent.”

While Lilo offered to lead them out, it was with Jumba’s looming presence overshadowing them. As they walked, she kept up a steady stream of chatter, which Mabel eagerly participated in. Grunkle Stan was sulking, probably because he didn’t like people seeing his true colors so easily.

Stitch was trailing Dipper, tongue lolling in the heat. After a minute, he nudged Dipper’s leg.

“Hey. You look for Pooka for a friend. He Pooka too?”

“Sort of a friend,” Dipped said. “But yeah. You don’t look much like him, though.”

“Oh.” Stitch’s ears drooped. “Maybe like this?” He strained, and his body contorted as two clawed limbs sprouted from his chest.

Dipper grinned. “A little. When he gets mad, he grows extra arms and punches people.”

“He ever hit someone with punch buggy?”

Dipper raised one eyebrow at that. “Not that I know of.”

“Hmph.” Stitch returned to a more normal form and continued after Dipper. “Jumba right? He not like me?”

“I don’t know, but I hope he’d care more whether you’re a good...person than how you were, uh, born.”

Stitch nodded. “Stitch much better now. When urge to steal shoes, go build sandcastles and rampage.” He grinned widely, probably intending to be reassuring, but it was mostly confusing.

“Why do you want to meet him, anyway?”

“He can be Stitch’s ohana.”

“O...hana?”

“Ohana means family. It means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

“Well, then he’d have to be stupid to let that gem slip him by.” Stitch’s toothy, slobbery grin was adequate thanks for the response as they reached their original arrival point.

At which point, Grunkle Stan glanced at Dipper. “Okay, how do we get back?”

In the end, Jumba let them use his own teleporter to get back to the Mystery Shack. Ford was glowering at the controls to his teleporter, but flew at Stan once they’d appeared.

“What do you think you were doing? You don’t know how this works; you could have gotten the kids hurt - or killed!”

Stan snorted. “I’ve been living around your dumb machines for thirty years; don’t tell me I don’t know how dangerous your toys are. And I _fixed_ your dimensional portal. And anyway, I thought their little alien hunt could use some finesse.” He waggled his fingers at Ford.

Ford stared at his brother for a few moments before sighing, his shoulders slumping. “Fine. But don’t use it again without asking first. I suppose I have to get you two home.”

“Not before a hug!” Mabel rushed at Ford, who’d developed the reflexes to accept the hug awkwardly, rather than the startled retreats he’d made the first few times.

“Don’t forget this.” Dipper scribbled a few numbers on a scrap note and handed it to Ford. “It’s the number for the alien scientist we met. You two would get along great.”

Later that night, after miraculously returning before their parents noticed they’d gone, Dipper was reclining on his bed, talking to Jamie on his laptop.

“Do you think Aster would get along with Stitch?”

“I don’t know. He might forgive the whole ‘crime against nature’ thing if Stitch pulls that whole ‘nobody gets left behind or forgotten’ stuff. Bunny’s really serious about duty and loyalty and junk. And who knows? He might be happy to see a little bit of the Pooka is still around. It’s a shame Jumba couldn’t help finish your uncle’s Pooka detector, though. It would have made things a lot easier.”

“Nothing ever is.” Dipper shifted the computer to get a better angle. “Hey, did you get in touch with your Katherine?”

Jamie winced, ducking his head away from the camera. “I don’t know how to get in touch with her directly. It’s got something to do with libraries, I think. But Jack’s been spending a lot of time helping Bunny with Easter, so I can’t reach her that way. So...sorry.”

“Heh, don’t worry about it. You offered to do me a favor; I don’t expect you to drop everything for me.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jamie scrubbed at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Come on, are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. I just worried a bit.” Jamie smiled at Dipper, but the smile was a little tentative.

“Jeez, don’t sit here and act scared of me. I’m not some wise old veteran. I’m fourteen.”

“Heh,” Jamie chuckled. “So am I. I guess you seem...older? More mature?”

Dipper ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t read too much into that. I like using big words, but I spent...six hours at the arcade yesterday playing...Sugar Rush.” He picked anxiously at his blankets.

“Alright, then, I’ll try not to put you on too much of a pedestal.” Dipper looked up to see Jamie offering a more stable smile. “I bet you’re not even a match for the Easter Bunny.”

Dipper shuddered, remembering Aster in the heat of battle. “I’m not even a match for my _sister_.”

“Really? I sort of thought you were the cool one.”

“R-really?” Almost nobody had ever met Dipper and Mabel and decided _Dipper_ was the cool one. He could feel his cheeks heating. “Anyway, I gotta hit the hay. I’ll keep you in the loop about our alien hunt, and send me a message if you hear back from Katherine bye!”

Dipper slammed the laptop shut, breathing hard. And then he fell back onto his bed. He was _such_ a loser, if he couldn’t handle being called ‘cool’ without having a meltdown. And oh god, he was going to have to _talk_ to Jamie again, and soon.

Well, that was why God invented video games - so awkward nerds could forget about their problems for a little while.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a miracle that Easter was done on time.

Not really; Bunny was a consummate professional, and that meant, no matter how distracted he got, he got the job done.

It was a miracle, then, that Jack didn’t somehow throw them a month behind schedule and force Bunny to murder him.

It was just hard to focus with Bunny sitting close by, tongue poking out as he focused, using his sturdy frame to shelter the eggs as he worked, being absolutely...well, his mind kept coming back to ‘irresistible’. It made Jack want to…

Well, keep helping clean and cook, just for a chance to get the stupid rabbit to smile at him more often.

It was embarrassingly domestic, but 300 years was a little too old to indulge in fantasies of unrestrained passions.

Not that if Bunny were game, Jack wouldn’t enthusiastically participate.

Just, you know, his experiences left him craving a little more than mindless passion.

Companionship. Affection. Touch. A sense that he had a place to _belong_. Old memories of his parents and Sarah, the sister he’d given his life for, gave flashes of once having known that feeling.

Sitting so close to someone he knew wanted the same thing, wanted it from _him_ , but couldn’t voice it now, not if they had any hope of finishing in time for Easter, was nothing short of torturous. It made it worse suspecting Bunny felt the same way, given the number of times Jack looked up to find the Pooka glancing away from him suddenly.

But whatever his feelings before, Jack had learned there were things more important than his feelings. At the very least, if he managed to ruin Easter by distracting Bunny at a key moment, he might lose all the progress he’d made in the last few years.

So he painted and helped Bunny with chocolate and tried to keep the conversation light. He might have kept gently flirting, which seemed to be alright, because Bunny kept shooting back with suggestive comments that left Jack blushing. But no one was falling behind, and it was nice to engage in verbal combat that was about more than disagreeing.

Better to engage in verbal combat that was promising enough that if Bunny could follow through on a tenth of it…

Well.

And then it was the night before Easter. Bunny was preparing to leave, directing the gathered eggs and packing a pouch hooked to his bandolier. He looked so professional and serious, ready to deliver the treats and baskets that wouldn’t travel under their own power, to check to see the eggs were in place, and otherwise direct a massive logistical undertaking.

It was, Jack had to admit, sort of hot.

He was trying not to hover, but when Bunny tapped against a tunnel to open a path to the surface, he paused, glancing back at Jack, who was a few inches above the ground and, yes, probably closer than he’d be to most other people.

“What’re you up to?”

“I’m coming with you.” Jack smiled at Bunny, but at the Pooka’s continued stare, he floated an inch back, feeling a little uncertain. “Is...that okay? I know you usually do this on your own, but-”

“No worries. I could use an offsider, if you’re willing to pitch in.”

“Oh, sure!” Jack spun around Bunny, his heart fluttering. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Here.” Bunny shoved a heavy burlap bag at Jack. “You can help deliver treats.” Jack peeked inside, finding it packed more than full with baskets of chocolate eggs and jellybeans.

“Deliver-”

“Yeah. I do the whole ‘breaking and entering to deliver prezzies’ thing,” Bunny replied. “Of course, if you’re worried about keeping up…”

Bunny’s grin was wide, teeth showing, something Jack had come to know for certain only happened when Bunny was trying to intimidate him. Or flirt.

And on this topic, Jack wasn’t certain which one it was. Or both.

Still, a challenge was a challenge.

“Keeping up? Pretty sure those old bones don’t have it in them to keep up with me.”

“I don’t know,” Bunny replied with a wink. “I can definitely keep going all night. Done it once a year for _ages_. So how about a little race? First to Burgess wins.”

Jack grinned in response. “And what’s the prize?”

“I’m sure we can...work something out,” Bunny murmured. “We got a deal?”

_Hell_ , yes. “You’re on.”

The hours that followed - nearly twenty-four, to catch the varying number of believers in every time zone - were among the most strenuous of Jack’s life. Even flying under the power of the Wind, trying to keep up with the relentless pace necessary to make sure everything was delivered, and that the eggs were properly hidden, was all but impossible. Jack resorted to cheating, including a vital three-minute reprieve earned by dropping a snowball on Bunny’s head.

He paid for it, of course, with a full-body tackle and being dropped off a roof.

But they were both laughing and panting when Jack collapsed next to his pond, a few seconds after Bunny.

“I knew you were a show pony - all talk.”

Jack punched Bunny’s shoulder lightly, scowling. “I nearly kept up!”

“Yeah, you did.” Bunny’s expression shifted, suddenly, a softening of the gaze, a twitch of the ears, and a gentle, close-mouthed smile. “Always thought you were a galah, a ruddy show pony, but you’re...something else, Jackie. Don’t know what you want with an old codger like me.” He reached out hesitantly, brushing a lock of hair back behind Jack’s ear. 

Jack couldn’t help but grin. “Aw, Bunny. You’re a sweet old rabbit. I’ve never seen anyone who cares quite as much as you. And…” He paused, swallowing uncertainly. “And don’t sell yourself short. You’re a - fine figure of a Pooka. Don’t look a day over a billion.”

Bunny opened his mouth to reply, but the motion turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. When he closed his mouth, his ears flicked back, and he gave Jack a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m knackered - maybe...we can talk in the morning?” He yawned again. “Maybe the arvo?”

“Sure, Bunny.” Jack tried to scramble up, but Bunny clamped a paw over Jack’s arm, stopping him.

“Come on, ya can crash in the Warren - been doing that enough as it is.”

So Jack stumbled after Bunny through his tunnels. By the time they reached the Warren, though, Bunny was the one stumbling. Jack sighed and guided Bunny back to his own room. Unfortunately, once there, Bunny wouldn’t let go.

It was hardly a hardship to accept, sharing a bed with Bunny, but hardly how Jack would have imagined their first time sleeping together.

But once again, the idea of a physical relationship, while certainly appealing, was so much less than the comfort of falling asleep with Bunny’s arms cradling him...


	8. Chapter 8

“Son? You need to get up.”

“Wha-?” Dipper scrubbed at his eyes, squinting at the vague shape of his father. “Dad, it’s...three in the morning.”

“There are some gentlemen that need to talk to you.” There was a long pause. “Your Grunkle Stan didn’t get you mixed up in anything...unsavory, did he?”

The prospect of answering that question with anything approaching candor was motivation to hop out of bed and prepare to meet whoever had shown up downstairs. Dipper really hoped they weren’t feds. The questions they asked always got so awkward.

Downstairs, escorted by his father, Dipper discovered they were, probably feds. Two suited men in the background, and a bald, blocky, dark-skinned man sitting at their kitchen table. He was wearing sunglasses and a matching suit. His mouth seemed to be set in a permanent frown, and his hands, folded on the table in front of him, had tattoos across the knuckles reading ‘COBRA’.

“Good morning, Mr. Pines. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but certain matters requiring our attention are of some...urgency.” He tilted his head, glasses making the direction of his gaze a mystery. “Sir, you can leave us and Ber-”

“ _Dipper_ ,” Dipper hissed, pausing the fed mid-word.

“Leave us and Dipper alone.”

“Now, see, here, you can’t question my son without me or, or a lawyer present-”

“Under the Alien Monitoring and Security Act of 1947, questioning focusing solely on the placement and attitude of alien individuals may be conducted with a minor absent of any legal representation or guardianship, provided an affidavit forswearing all right to criminal prosecution for information gathered during the conversation is provided. Agent Smith?”

One of the agents stepped forward, handing Dipper’s father a thin sleeve of paper. He scanned it quietly, before nodding.

“This seems in order. But...can I stay if Dipper wants me?”

“No. Due to various treaties and other regulations, allowing you access to the details of this conversation would involve a great deal of paperwork. And I _hate_ paperwork.”

Having at least secured a promise that Dipper wasn’t going to jail, Dipper’s father went to the door; he paused, trying to give Dipper a reassuring smile or something. Dipper smiled, hoping he looked more confident than he felt.

Once Dipper was alone with the agents, the man with ‘COBRA’ on his knuckled gestured at Dipper to sit, which he did so.

“Mr. Pines. My name is Agent Bubbles. I am...a specialist working for HHS.”

“The Department of Homeland Security?” Though he’d been promised he wasn’t going to jail, Dipper hadn’t received any assurances he wasn’t being thrown in a holding cell somewhere to be waterboarded or whatever.

“Health and Human Services, Mr. Pines. You might want to brush up on your U.S. government trivia. Among my tasks is the monitoring of the household of one Lilo Pelekai.” A shock of realization hit Dipper; his father had certainly heard mention of ‘alien’ and presumed it referred to foreign nationals. But these were the Men in Black.

“Are you going to wipe my memory?”

“The Surgeon General tightened the restrictions on the use of that technology in 1997, given the...side effects. No, we are here because inquiries you made to Ms. Pelekai, and requested be passed onto me, triggered certain protocols. The information I am discussing with you was designated…” Agent Bubbles sighed. “Super-Duper Maximum Top Secret Clearance, Keep Out, This Means You, Robert Weatherby.”

Dipper’s stomach sank. There was only one person with any sort of authority who would have used a name like that.

“Does this have anything to do with President Trembley?”

There was a shift in Agent Bubbles’ face, a tightening of his brow. “Indirectly. But come on; our ride’s waiting.”

“Ride? Where are we going?”

“Boston.”

They were doing so in a military jet parked at the tiny airstrip just outside of town. The jet looked like the _windows_ were probably a space-age technology that had cost a trillion dollars apiece.

Once aboard and aloft, Agent Bubbles, sitting across from Dipper in a set of seats, seemed to relax, marginally.

“To be frank, Dipper, this whole situation is a bit of a cluster - a nightmare. At any time, approximately a dozen people possessed SIDIM Top Secret Clearance. By statute, none of them was the President, which means when he got wind of this...well, we’re here on his direct orders. Once we pick up our other passenger, we’ll be getting this whole thing as resolved as we can manage before everyone involved ends up on the naughty list.”

“Wait - what about Mabel?” It was embarrassing Dipper had taken this long to remember his twin, but in his defense, he’d been dragged out of his bed before dawn.

“This clearance level, and the information associated with it, is related to executive branch authorities. As such, Congresswoman Pines would have to file a variance request through the Supreme Court to be allowed access to these proceedings or the transcripts thereof.”

“Congress - we got a letter from the House of Representatives telling her to stop sending in her votes!”

“They do not...fully understand how the government works. True. Congresswoman Pines may not vote in the legislative sessions. She possesses certain privileges and...responsibilities, nonetheless.”

“O...kay. Anyway, who’s our other passenger?”

“James Oliver Bennett. Don’t worry; it’s on our way.”

There did not seem to be much more to say at this moment, so Dipper took the opportunity to try to get more sleep. He was roused an indeterminate amount of time later by a violent shaking of his shoulder. He blinked a few times, trying to focus; when he did, it was on a familiar face - one just starting to lengthen and lose some of its roundness, grinning widely beneath wide brown eyes that took in everything, and and casually disheveled brown hair.

“Hey, Dipper! We’re here!”

“Wha?”

Agent Bubbles stepped into Dipper’s field of vision.

“We decided to allow you more sleep. However, we have arrived in Boston.”

Dipper stumbled to his feet and trailed after Agent Bubbles and Jamie. Agent Bubbles, it seemed, had decided more talking was in order.

“President Trembley, as it happens, instituted our first extraterrestrial contact protocols. One of his colleagues had access to certain artifacts that required a careful, measured response, were we ever to encounter their creators. The information was buried within the State Department, the few people aware of the issue ensuring that they should be alerted if it ever came to light that a Pooka had arrived on Earth.”

“There’s been a Pooka on Earth since forever,” Jamie said.

Agent Bubbles nodded. “That particular failure in intelligence has been made clear. It was decided, based on the...nature of your inquiry, that you should be present for the resolution of it.”

“Wait a minute - are you saying the government has a Pooka spaceship?”

“That is the crux of the issue, yes, Mr. Pines. Come.”

The building they arrived at looked wholly unremarkable, although it was labeled “Trembley’s Curiosities”. Agent Bubbles navigated stacks of teetering junk, things that, on closer examination, contained items such as-

“Is that a laser sword?”

“I think you’ll find, Mr. Pines, that the most effective hiding place contains an element of leaving the hidden item in plain sight. This way, please.”

Agent Bubbles pushed past a curtain into a back room, which proved to be an unremarkable, if cramped, office, at least until Agent Bubbles shifted a table lamp an inch to the left, and the room jolted, beginning to sink downward.

Jamie, who’d been staring at everything with wide-eyed amazement since the revelation that they were about to reach the end of their ‘presents for the Easter Bunny’ quest, grabbed onto Dipper for support. 

Dipper found himself thinking, and he wasn’t liking the direction his thoughts were taking, primarily because there wouldn’t need to be a ‘protocol’ if the U.S. government had a _live_ Pooka somewhere. But he had no idea how to share the concerns with Jamie, to cushion what he was certain was going to be incredibly depressing.

The room shuddered to a stop, and then Jamie was all but bouncing after Agent Bubbles. Agent Bubbles himself was moving slowly, more so than earlier, and Dipper wondered if he knew what they were walking toward.

It was actually little different from a dusty old basement, although Dipper suspected the floor and walls were metal, and that the room was packed full of sensors and alarms. But the real centerpiece was the spaceship. It wasn’t much larger than it needed to be to hold one human-sized creature, but was impressive nonetheless. Egg-shaped, made of some silvery material, and pulsing faintly in the room, the ship looked like it should have sheltered a Pooka on a trip to Earth from...wherever.

Jamie ran up to the ship excitedly, pressing at it with his palms, trying to find an opening. 

Agent Bubbles, standing back at the door, cleared his throat. “Try the part right at the front.”

Oh, he knew what Jamie would find, Dipper was sure. He took a step forward, hoping it wasn’t-

The ship was empty of any body, and Dipper sighed in relief. There was a letter, however, and Jamie grabbed it, started reading.

Dipper started moving the moment he saw a shift in Jamie’s expression. It was only confusion, but he could sense the direction of the other boy’s mood as he read the letter.

But Dipper had to scramble back when Jamie turned and kicked the spaceship as hard as he could.

“It’s not fair!” the other boy wailed. He kicked the ship a few more times. “If Bunny’d known - he could have-” He broke off, whole body shaking, and _that_ was what Dipper had expected. He stepped closer before pausing; seeing Jamie reading the letter and knowing it would end in tears had moved him to comfort the other boy, as he would have Mabel. But the unexpected reaction had reminded him Jamie _wasn’t_ Mabel.

“Jamie?”

Jamie lunged at Dipper; instincts necessary to a life involving regular combat _and_ Mabel Pines’ affection kept him still when it was clear Jamie wasn’t still in his ‘kicking’ phase of grief. The other boy hung onto Dipper’s shirt, sobbing. It took a moment before Dipper felt comfortable enough to offer an awkward pat on the back. This prompted Jamie to shift, grabbing Dipper tightly around the middle as he continued to sniffle and sob. Dipper dropped his hands, marginally, hoping the loose embrace was suitably comforting. It was always hard to tell, when the comfortee kept crying even after you gave them a hug.

“It’s not fair,” Jamie repeated.

“Yeah...I know.” Dipper wanted to read the letter, but was pretty sure Jamie’s reaction got the gist across. The U.S. government had a program in place to explain to any arriving Pooka why they had a Pooka spaceship, but no Pooka, to explain, he was certain, how the refugee’s death wasn’t their fault. Jamie was right; it wasn’t fair. Unfortunately, he was pretty certain neither of them were powerful enough to do anything about it.

Dipper deliberately avoiding counting the seconds until Jamie’s sobs faded and he broke away. Jamie’s eyes were red and he was still sniffling, but he wasn’t actively sobbing anymore. He wiped at his eyes with his arm and gave Dipper a weak smile coupled with eyes still a little watery.

Jamie bit at his bottom lip, smile wavering a little more. “Sorry for...I’m not - I don’t-”

Dipper stepped back a little closer and patted Jamie’s shoulder. “Don’t _worry_ about it. I got over thinking that macho bullshit means anything a while ago. If you gotta cry, you gotta cry.”

“Th - thanks.” Jamie wiped at his face again. “Just if the guys at school saw this, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Dipper nodded his head, acknowledging that little truth.

Then he looked up at Agent Bubbles. “So...what did you expect us to do with this?”

“Our contacts suggest you were trying to deliver news of any Pooka on this planet to our current Pooka resident. I believe...you should do so.”

Jamie nodded, letting out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah. I can...handle that.”

“You sure? I could come help-”

“No. They’re my friends. I think...I should handle it myself. But maybe...I could call you afterward?”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, of course.” Even if he hadn’t learned the need for someone to help decompress from the stress of supernatural outings, Jamie was his _friend_.

“With that settled, I think the two of your should head home.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bunny had actually slept for close to three days. Jack didn’t have the patience sitting around waiting for that, so he spent much of the time cleaning. Bunny normally spent something like a month after Easter cleaning the Warren, so Jack figured any effort to reduce that time was worth it.

Wandering around Bunny’s home cleaning after clambering out of Bunny’s embrace - and bed - felt decidedly intimate, and it took Jack some time to stop grinning about it.

About two days after Easter, the Wind blew a folded paper snowflake into the Warren, depositing it on the kitchen table. He wasn’t certain why Katherine had spread the story that children could send messages to him on paper snowflakes, but it had taken, and the Wind was obliging in delivering them.

It was as close to a summons as Jamie dared make, so Jack decided it was a good time to get some fresh air and hustle over.

Jack found Jamie sitting near his pond in Burgess, the boy turning an envelope over in his hands. He glanced up when Jack landed, normally cheerful expression schooled into something more guarded.

“Hey, Jack.”

“What’s up, Jamie?” Jack dropped down next to him, draping his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I...Sophie suggested something recently, and I...got Bunny an Easter present.” He handed the envelope out to Jack. “Here.”

Jack took it, gingerly. “Shouldn’t you be giving this to Bunny?”

“I think...you should read it first. Bunny’s...gonna need someone around when he gets it.”

“Jamie, what’s-”

“Just read it, okay?”

There was an edge to Jamie’s voice, something ragged and desperate, to which Jack responded by shifting his hand down, rubbing the boy’s back.

“Okay, calm down. I’ll take a look…”

Jack opened the (unsealed) envelope and unfolded the letter inside, a little aged and faded.

First was a neat, printed note.

_”I have copied the letter I inherited, as it had grown too delicate to pass on, and as has been done many times in the past. Though some form of Chinese Whispers may have diluted some of the message, I am assured the truth of it should remain clear.”_

And then below it was a longer message:

_”To the Pooka who may find this,_

_”I write to confirm to you that one of your people indeed came to our world, a refugee from some war amongst the stars. We found him injured, and took him into our home, as our Christian duty required._

_”I do not wish to lead you to believe we offered him only grudging hospitality. Though he was strange to us, clearly a creature of alien origins, we gave him the same care as we would to our own child. His kindness, charity, and sense of humor gave us reason to care for him deeply; I would hope you accept in the spirit that the sentiment that it is given that he was as ideal an ambassador of your people as you could have hoped._

_”It is with heavy heart, though, that I must also share news of his passing. His nobility and charity I have mentioned, and it was these virtues that led him to show us the greatest love of which a soul is capable: laying down his life for the sake of our daughter. I cannot hope to truly understand what sorrow you may feel in learning this, but please accept my assurance that we mourned his passing deeply, and have prayed that the virtues we saw were sufficient that the Good Lord might have visited His Grace upon him, and raise him up to His right hand._

_”I do beg you to take this history as a sign that our people have met and intermingled as brother and sister in God, as we surely are, and to seek that goodness in us, so we make seek unity in our shared joys and sorrows, rather than strife that might come through blindness and ignorance._

_”May the blessings of Our Lord go with you-”_

Jack stared at the letter long after he finished reading it. This would shatter the happiness Jack had seen in Bunny over the past year, but Jamie was right that Bunny needed to see it.

“You’ll - take care of him, right?” It was at that moment that Jack realized Jamie’s face was tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed, and he looked on the edge of starting to cry again.

Jack ruffled Jamie’s hair, tugging the boy closer to him. “Always.”

Jamie took his leave, then, with a promise he had someone to talk to (Jack would need to check in on that later. For safety’s sake), and that left Jack to find his way back to the Warren alone, to deliver the worst news Bunny would hear in millenia.

He didn’t try to make anything special, any favorite foods or drinks, because nothing would dull this moment for Bunny. He simply sat at the kitchen table until Bunny woke.

Bunny wandered into the kitchen, yawning. “You did a real number on this place, Jackie. I’ll have to scramble to find something to occupy me for the next - what’s wrong?”

“Jamie and - and Sophie wanted to get you something for Easter. They...went looking for other Pooka.” He handed over the letter, unable to meet Bunny’s eyes.

“And what-” Bunny broke off as he started reading the letter. Jack couldn’t watch, couldn’t look at the confusion give way to loneliness, misery-

But neither could he leave Bunny on his own.

Jack looked up just as Bunny finished the letter. His paws were shaking; Jack reached up to tug the letter away, and guide Bunny down to a chair. He dragged his chair next to Bunny and sat close, one arm wrapped around him.

And then Bunny turned, ducking his head to rest on Jack’s, arms wrapping tight around Jack to return the embrace. After a time, he began shaking, and tears began to soak into Jack’s hair.


	10. Chapter 10

Hellebore was still laying on the table, allowing his savior - Mary - to tend to his wounds, when a door opened and shut and a girl, young, round-faced, dressed in the simple cloth Mary and her husband favored, appeared in his field of view.

“What’s this, mother?”

“I’m a - ouch - Pooka,” Hellebore retorted. “And I’m not deaf.”

“Oh.” The girl’s pale brown eyes widened, and she drew away, straight brown hair falling down over her face.

“Hey, sorry,” Hellebore crooned. “Ow. I’m just a little grumpy. I got a little - ow - banged up.”

“Oh.” The girl drew closer. “Are you a fairy?”

Hellebore laughed, which caused an unfortunate coughing fit. “I strongly doubt it. I’m a person - just like you.”

“Except you look like a giant rabbit!”

Hellebore exchanged a glance with Mary, who gave him an apologetic smile.

“Well, I suppose. But I can look like pretty much like anything I want.” Rather than risk anything strenuous, Hellebore stretched his muzzle and elongated his teeth, snapping playfully at the girl. She laughed and clapped her hands.

“Fairies can change their shape,” the girl added.

“Sarah, it is rude to question a man’s integrity when you have only just met him,” Mary scolded. “Now take a deep breath,” she commanded Hellebore. He did so, finding it already hurt less. “Try sitting up, and I’ll make some tea.”

“Thank you.” Hellebore swung around, lowering himself gingerly onto one of the chairs next to the table. Sarah sat next to him, staring at his ears. Once he realized that, they twitched as he fought the urge to flatten them against his head. “What?”

“I’ve just never seen anything like you.” At her mother’s glare, Sarah ducked her head. “Sorry. That’s rude.”

Hellebore shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s understandable. My name’s Hellebore.”

“Sarah Overland!” Sarah declared. She reached out a hand, which Hellebore took delicately in his paw. “My mother’s Mary, and my father’s Patrick, and - and-”

“Is it just you three?” 

Sarah nodded her head energetically. “But we do well.”

“Yes, we do make do, Hellebore.” Mary set a platter on the table, with a set of steaming mugs. “Water with honey for you, Sarah dear.” She sat at the third and final chair and offered Hellebore a gentle smile. “I do wonder, dear, how you came to us.”

Hellebore closed his eyes, wondering how much he could easily reveal. “There was a - a war. A - a friend sent me away from it.”

“Not just a little lost, then.”

Hellebore shook his head. “No. He might catch up with me one day, but until then…” He shrugged. “I’d be happy if you could point me in the direction of a good-sized city-”

“I wouldn’t hear of it. We will certainly keep you here while you heal, but if you’re willing to work, we’d be delighted to have you as long as you wish.”

“Oh. That’s…” Hellebore fought back a knot in his throat. “I hadn’t thought - that’s very kind of you.”

“It’s our Christian duty to help those in need, and you seem a gentle soul,” Mary replied. “But there would be one condition...your appearance is likely to draw unwelcome attention. It would be true wherever you went in our land, so please don’t think this undue concern over our appearances. But you said you could take any form you wished…”

“Give it a day or two,” Hellebore replied, “and I can look like anyone you wish.”

“And he should get a better name, too!”

“Sarah!” Mary sighed and looked to Hellebore. “I won’t say she’s wrong. Hellebore’s a lovely name - the Easter Rose, even. But it’s a trifle odd. Still, I wouldn’t ask you to abandon your name here-”

“No, that’s alright. It makes the whole thing feel like an adventure.” Hellebore glanced at Sarah. “And what do you think my name should be?”

“Jackson!”

“Well,” Hellebore said, grinning up at Mary. “There you have it: Jackson, Jack for short. The fact that I’m really a shape-shifting rabbit will be our little secret.”

In a few days, he helped Patrick hide his ship. And in the end, his appearance _did_ cause a stir. The form he’d chosen looked a little too much like Mary and little enough like Patrick that there were whispers all through the town. Mary took it in stride, saying it was a compliment hearing so many people certain Jack was her son. It didn’t stop Hellebore from using his natural talents to put a little scare in the worst of the gossipers.

And in time, he was as much like family that it always took a moment to remember that his real name wasn’t Jackson Overland.

But he never forgot to watch the stars for Cadet Bunny, who’d agreed to come after him when the war was over.


End file.
